


From Tomorrow Until Yesterday

by Pastel_Rose



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe, Angst, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Developing Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Introspection, Loneliness, Magical Realism, Mental Health Issues, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-02-06 06:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12811350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Rose/pseuds/Pastel_Rose
Summary: Calista hides from the world. Bark and vines have been growing over her body for years and her hair is filled with spurting flowers. She cannot seem to get a grip on her mind, she feels lost and alone. However, living in her bedroom mirror is a woman named Annora. Maybe they will be able to discover the whispers and truths of the universe and taste the stars together; or maybe, they will fall through the cracks of the clouds like everyone else.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!  
> Thank you so much for reading the first chapter!! It means so much to me :) <3 
> 
> This story will be dealing with rather graphic depictions of mental illness ( how graphic yet, I do not know), and may also be dealing with controversial ideas surrounding them, as well as sexuality. These are not ideas I am promoting or degrading, but merely exploring. At the beginning of each chapter I will leave a trigger warning list for all large triggers, however, if I ever miss one you think should be included just let me know and I will add it right away. :) 
> 
> I would also like to prephase that BPD is a very complicated and extremely stigmatised mental illness, and while there are underlining similarities, people can experience this illness in different ways that do not always manifest in the ways they are socially perceived as. With that in mind, this exploration of BPD may not follow suite with particular attributes you may be used to through pop culture. And due to this stigma, I will have my character unaware of the fact that they have BPD, but that does not mean they still do not have it, and thus the clear cut acknowledgment of BPD will not be made clear within the story itself (at least at this point, who knows, I may change my mind :) ) this is not done to erase BPD exposure, but merely to reflect the experiences of some - stigma of BPD will be explored, just in a different manner. The stigma of BPD can often make it very hard for people to accept they have it, seek treatment for it or even be diagnosed with it, as such, I believe that is a very impactful and harmful result of social stigma, which is why I chose to explore that aspect of the stigma linked with BPD. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> \- Mention to character being uncomfortable being alive  
> \- Mentions of immense loneliness  
> \- Negative comments on being mentally ill
> 
> I hope you enjoy the first chapter! :)  
> I hope you have a lovely day! <3

“I am the Love that dare not speak its name.” – Lord Alfred Douglas, _Two Lovers_

 

 

 

 

 

 The room glowed in a mustered yellow.

The blinds were drawn and the soft sound of violins could be heard soaking into the walls. Calista sat on her bed slowly brushing the flowers out of her hair. One by one the yellow, bronze and red flower petals floated down her face into the bowl that was resting in-between her legs – legs that were subtly scattered with the reminisce of bark.

She had always thought that brushing the flowers out of her hair would be painful; that it would feel like picking at an old, dried scab. She had been pleased with the fact it was no more painful than brushing out a small knot.

Calista deeply wished that she could find some level of beauty in the phenomenon that was happening over her skin. She felt that if she could also find joy in destruction of her life that she had come to accept and maybe not feel as trapped and cursed.

She never would have told that to anyone else, though.

No one needed to know what was happening to her body, let alone how she felt about it.

It was not worth it.

However, it did provide her with a level of perspective that she had long been in denial of holding. Being who she was, because of _what_ she was, she had always found it easy to hide and lock herself away from her self-conscious when she was younger. It had almost been too easy. Was it a privilege? Was it a curse? At the time, Calista did not believe it to be either, it simply _was,_ and that had been enough for her. She had convinced herself it always would be. But as it became harder and harder and harder to not look at the barks and leaves that were shooting out of her skin and spurting through her hair, she had been backed into a corner. She had no other choice but to face herself – in all aspects of the word. There had been many corners and boxes of who she was that she had kept hidden and tried to force away, in fear that she would be rejected by those around her. In fear that she would end up rejecting herself

She had never been sure which outcome frighted her the most. Perhaps they were equal; perhaps she was in denial about that too.

By facing those flowers and leaves and wooden bumps, she ended up facing a lot more about herself too, so perhaps, somewhere along the line, something good had come out of it all.

She did not know, though. Not fully. It did make her feel indifferent towards herself and her world. Like a slow growing fungi, that thrived in the dark and bitterness of the shadows, Calista developed a more regretful opinion of the world and those around her.

It was not like she hated her world, far from it, she just did not feel a part of it. 

Some people may look at her and instantly think she felt that way because she was alone in the world and she had to take five steps quicker than everyone else simply to catch a glimpse of the backs of all those around her, but that was not the reason she did not feel a part of the world around her.

Some people may look at her parents and assume that was why she was miserable, but again, they would be wrong. Calista did not feel hatred or disgust when she looked at the old and wrinkled faces of her weathered parents. She sometimes felt agitated or useless. But never hatred. Mainly, Calista felt pity. When she looked into the eyes of her mother and father, their eyes that were the colour of a deep winter storm, she could see people who were trying and pushing and trying and tugging and shoving and trying. She saw two hearts that the world had knocked down so many times that the only thing left were jaded and bitter shells that only somewhat resembled the people they who used to be. Calista knew her parents were the people they were because the world had dripped its cruel elixir of sadness and pain down their throats to the point where they could not breathe without feeling anger and rejection. Calista knew that. That was why she could not hate her parents. Did she love her mother and father? Yes, Calista believed she did. Did she like her mother and father? No, Calista felt as if she stopped liking her mother and father many years ago. Even though she knew why her parents were the way they were, that could not remove the pains they had brought to Calista and her life. She could love her parents, she could understand her parents and she could see that they were people – that were trying against all odds, but she could not forgive her parents. Some things could not be forgiven or forgotten, but they could be slowly moved passed.

Some people may look at Calista’s fragile and sickly mind and assume that was why she did not feel a part of the world. They may believe that she was angry at the world for not giving her a body and a mind like the other people around her. They would be partly correct, but yet again, they would be wrong. Calista did not resent other people for having what she could not. She felt jealously on some days where her will was flaking away, but that would always be it. For the most part, Calista was glad other people could have what they did. There were days where her heart was filled with resentment to her body and her rotting mind, and her entire being would be filled with the longing for a body and a mind and a life that would never be, but that was a problem of her soul, not of her world.

The main reason Calista did not feel a part of her world was because she did not feel a part of herself. In her mind, her future was a blurred line of contradictions and contingencies. She would look at herself and feel like a piece of paper that had been cut out of the greater equation. Some days she felt like she was meant for something, but if she looked around at the other people that surrounded her, she would always come to realise that everyone was trying to convince themselves they were meant for something more than what they had been dealt. She was not special for thinking she wanted to be more then what she was. Yet, she still saw some difference in it. She would see the self-acceptance in the eyes of all those other people. That acceptance was not always something positive either. It was just acceptance of who they were and where they had been placed. Calista did not have that. Most days she could not even accept the most basic of things: She could not even accept that she was alive. She would look at his reflections or touch her bark dotted skin, but none of it would seem real. Each day would wash over her like a broken raincloud, and before she knew it, she would be yet again doing what the world demanded of her, without even knowing who she was. Each day her shackles to the world had been slowly cut away until she was no longer tied down to Earth, but she was floating above it. She was no longer apart of the world she used to call home.

People loved to say that there was a special place for everyone in the world. That there was something important they were put on Earth for. Calista did not know if she believed that. She did not know how she could. She would look around her and see people suffering and crying and pleading for something better: For something meaningful.

Was that their job? To be put on Earth to cry?

She did not want to believe that.

She could not bring herself to. It just seemed too cruel.

She had come to believe that people were put on Earth for no reason at all; they were just there. Though, a part of her believed that seemed to be equally as cruel. Perhaps anything that was not cruel was simply an illusion.

That was just how she believed the world was.

She loved her world, despite all its flaws and dark sides, she loved it. She wanted to help it, one day. She wanted to be strong for it. To be whole for it. Yet, she did not feel a part of it. She had come to believe maybe it was for the best. Maybe the only way she could be there for her world was if she was not a part of it. If that were to be the case, Calista believed it would all be worth it. She did not know how she would help her world, maybe she would make one person smile, maybe that was all she could do, and if it were, she would do it happily.

If her world could smile she felt it all might be worth it.

At least, that was what she tried to tell herself. If it was true or not, she felt she would never know. She was too frightened to let herself have access to the truth of that mindset.

“There sure are a lot today, aren’t there?”

“Huh?” Calista turned her head to the mirror, her mind still buzzing with its own voice.

She saw Annora softly smile, as if she understood everything that had happened and possibly ever would happen.

“Flowers,” she stated. “There sure are a lot of flowers in your hair.”

“Oh,” Calista whispered, touching her hair. “Yeah, there are quite a few today. Would you like to see them?”

Annora nodded her head.

Calista walked over to the mirror that was hung up on her back wall, Annora’s face getting closer and closer.

Annora’s face was not one that society may have typically deemed as ‘beautiful’, but Calista always believed it was filled with a unique kind of warmth that could never be replicated. Despite the distance, and the glass and emotional strings that separated them, to Calista, Annora felt like a soft field she could fall into in her dreams. Annora’s deep brown eyes were the rivers Calista could run her fingers through when her nightmares manifested into drones of the day. Annora was the soul that filled Calista’s tiny apartment with a sense of tomorrow and today. Her round face was dusted with the colour of freshly picked apples and her dirty blonde hair curved over her face like a rough cut of forgotten gown fabric.

She was more grateful for Annora then she could articulate. Was Annora real? Was any of it real? She was not sure, but it did not matter to her, because it brought her light. Happiness. Hope – and _that_ was all that mattered.

“Wow,” Annora breathed, looking at the large bowl full of assorted petals, “they’re pretty big, aren’t they?”

“Yeah they are. I’m not sure why. They just keep getting bigger and bigger.”

Annora frowned. “Maybe something’s wrong, are you sick?”

Calista shook her head. “I don’t think there’s any logical reason as to why it’s happening. It just is.”

“No logical reason? But there’s always a reason why something happens – always some kind of truth.”

Calista laughed. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“You don’t believe in truths?” Annora asked.

She thought about it. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Why not?”

“Truths are never any fun,” Calista explained. “They never hold much purpose. Not to mention everyone has a different one. No two truths are ever the same.”

“What do you believe in then?”

“I’m not really sure – maybe dreams. There are always many fun dreams.”

“Everyone has different dreams too, though,” Annora pointed out, smiling.

“Yes, but they are accepted as different. Truths are not.”


	2. Away From The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello!! Thank you so much for reading the next chapter! It means a lot to me. :) <3  
> Sorry it took so long to get out, hopefully I can get into a good routine and find time to update more regularly. I think I should be able to.  
> If I have left anything out of the TW list please let me know and I will add it as soon as I can :)  
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> \- Loneliness  
> \- Actions that could be perceived as self harm  
> \- Deep sadness 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! I hope you all have a wonderful day!! <3

She enjoyed working at the nursery.

It was always early in the morning – late in the night. She could be alone and never have to face the eyes of the public, something she had grown less and less resistant to over the years. Some may think that she despised other people, with how much she had come to try and avoid them. But they would be wrong. Calista did not hate people. She just did not know how to handle them. She never knew what to say; other then what was polite and required. She would be awkward when she spoke with people. She could see how uncomfortable she made them, because people always ended up expecting more than just simple politeness; and that was something she never knew how to provide. Her inability to engage with people made her heart feel as though it was tied to the bottom of a stale and messy pond. Collecting dirt and simply sinking further and further down.

That was why she liked working at the nursery.

The only other person there would be Mr Wodworth, and he never had much to say either. He was quiet and kept to himself for the most part. They would pass each other, smile, say hello, ask how the other was going, and then they would be on their way.

It was the perfect set up for Calista, at least, that was what she told herself.

The nursery, _Flowers And Vines Of The Past_ , always had an abundance of interesting guests. Calista never had the privilege of seeing them, though. She had been told a lot about them. Mr Wodworth would mumble to himself about all the guests that came to his nursery. He would talk of Mr and Mrs Looloou, and how their favourite plants to buy where the Moon Kissed Lilies; little Miss Cherrypick would always comment on how the Pink Water Roses looked more and more pink every time she saw them. Calista would always listen as Mr Wodworth told himself stories of his customers, and how some of them glowed the colour of the moon, some floated above the ground, their eyes would hold the night sky, and their hair would be made of water; and she would sometimes feel less alone – as if maybe there were people like her out there in the world; out there in her city. Maybe she was more normal then she ever gave herself credit for, however, whenever she looked out of the glass windows of the nursery in the early hours of the morning, right before the sun started to lick the sky, she would see a few people bustling about in the world, and she would be sharply reminded of what she was not. She would be reminded that she was in fact the abnormal person she always believed she was.

Most days that realization did not hurt her too much. However, on others, allowing herself to live in the delusions that she was normal and not a mistake of the world, and coming to realise she was in fact a spelling error, was jarring and painful in such a small way that it stung her whole body – much like a paper cut that one does not feel until they see they have it; then it is the most painful slit on their body. It heightened all of her emotions – it reminded her of her curse.

But mostly, it reminded her of how alone she felt. Calista was never particularly sure why, but her sense of loneliness was the heaviest weight against her heart. She had the perplexing sensation of feeling so desperately alone while by herself, yet, that feeling did nothing but enhance if she dared to enter the presence of others. It was as if the mere scent of other people pushed her so far into herself that she would fall off the pedestal of her heart until she no longer knew who she was or where she was.

She would like to believe Mr Wodworth when he described all the fantastical people that visited him – it sounded so wonderful to dabble in the disillusionments of similarity and sameness, but she was frightened to do so. She was frightened of what would happen to her if she let herself believe, for a mere moment, and then got dragged back into the reality of her life.

Maybe some people believed in the magic of the world, but Calista was not one of them. Despite all the world had thrust onto her, she could not allow herself to believe in magic and chances and hope. Thoughts like those lead to someone’s demise.

Instead she kept her head held high, she kept to herself, and she refrained from entertaining the world with trivial and fickle things. She would not have described herself as cruel or emotionless; however, she made an effort to not expose her heart to the surface of the world.

She was more than content to waver between the fine line of floating and drowning then taking a reckless step and falling too far. The world did not need access to her heart; just as she did not need access to its heart.

That particular night, her skin felt stiff and rough – like a future that was stirring anew. She was overwhelmed with the need to pick at it and pull of the new growing bark, to tug at the vines that ran up her neck. She tried to hide her skin and body as well as she could manage to when she was out and about. A thick woollen scarf wrapped around her neck. Its dark autumn colours standing bright against the pale moonlight room. Calista tugged and pulled at it in irritation; she could hardly seem to focus on her jobs.

Two more hours.

She just had to contain herself for two more hours, then she could fall victim to her discomfort and shortcomings.

Slowly, and cautiously, she started to move the boxes full of crystal seedlings out of the glass room and into the main section of the nursery. Her thick black hair swayed side to side in her ponytail as she moved. She felt hyperaware of it. She was worried if it swayed too far parts of her neck that might not have been fully covered by her scarf would be seen. She scrunched her shoulders up high in a futile attempt to try and cover any of her exposed neck.

She continually moved her head from side to side, in an attempt to wash away the sensation and convince herself it was not there. She took a deep breath, in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out, and slowly continued to walk.

Two more hours.

Just two more hours and then she could go home.

_Home._

__________

_The house was quiet._

_Calista had been extremely thankful for it; yet at the same time, it anchored her down. She had been petrified that she would shatter the illusion of tranquillity that encompassed her. Being alone meant she could rip apart the aspects of herself she disliked; however, being alone and away from the world also allowed her to become more intuitively aware of her flaws and undesirable features. When she was allowed the room to stop and breathe, to stop and take a break – to be alone, she was allowed the freedom to fall into a pit of self-disgust and pity. Her mind was free to fall apart and collapse in on itself. After all, that was the only acceptable way to have a downpour of emotions. If she even dared to show her true colours the world would have her head for it. She was sure of it. She was sure the world would not be able to accept and hold her softly as she fell into the abyss of her heart._

_She had also never been more sure of anything in her life._

_She had dumped her school bag near the front door and started to lethargically meander down the hall, dropping the scattering of tight black school shoes and slipping white socks along her path. She made her way to the bathroom. Once there she undid the collar and tie around her neck. In the mirror she saw the face of a girl who was defeated._

_Yet another day of sitting alone at school while she watched everyone else around her interact and play games. They would share their phones and pass secret messages to each other. They would laugh and shove each other. There was always a level of peace in their atmosphere, Calista felt. A level of self-reassurance. Even if it could just be for a week, she craved so deeply to feel what they felt – to know she could walk onto the school grounds and have someone to sit with, to have someone to talk about her weekend with. No matter how hard she tried though, she could never seem to be placed in the same category of all those around her._

_Perhaps that was her problem._

_She tried so hard to be accepted by others, yet not for a second did she try to be someone she wasn’t – at least, she did not think she did. If she was being with herself, if she took too seconds to be genuine with herself, she was not entirely sure who she was. She felt as if she was being authentic, but maybe that was not the case. Perhaps being ones most authentic self had nothing to do with refusing to give up the hobbies she had and acknowledging when a situation made her uncomfortable. Perhaps being ones true self was a lot deeper than that. Maybe she just did not want to admit that she was a puppet master to an empty and lifeless girl. Maybe she did not want to admit that an assortment of her personality traits had been accumulated from various characters she had read about from her favourite books._

_Perhaps everyone could smell that all over her._

_A small part of her knew that people were not sitting with her because she tried too hard. People could smell that from a mile away – and Calista knew she stunk of it. She reeked of a person so desperately denied of human contact. Her odour was one rich with loneliness, so the only people that ever spoke to her where ones with a guilty conscience that pitied her long enough to talk to her for twenty minutes before never uttering her name again. She knew friends had to be made authentically, and if people did not want to sit with her, for whatever reason, that ultimately she could not do anything to fix that. Not really. Friendship had to grow naturally; it was not something that could be artificially built. She knew that. She did. But that did not mean it did not sting every time she had to see all the people around her in their groups and their cliques and their friend groups. It made her think, was she really that odd? Was she truly that undesirable to be friends with? She did not fully want to believe that to be case, but it was what all evidence proved to be so._

_Calista turned on the tap and the let the cool water run through her blazing fingers. She cupped her hand and brought the water up to her face, letting it dribble over her eyes and cheeks and chin and pull her back down to Earth._

_She tied her dry, long black hair up into a messy hair up into a ponytail. Strands of loose hair clung to her wet face. She slowly striped off her school uniform until she was in nothing but her bra and underwear. She looked in disgust as she saw the stretch of bark that had started to reappear on her shoulders. They stood out clearly against her olive brown skin. Her face felt heavy with unreleased tears that banged against her eyes, demanding to be set free. Her body tensed with resistance against her sadness._

_She moved, almost like a robot, over to the shower and turned the water on and jumped in swiftly. Not waiting for the water to warm up. Not taking the time to remove her bra and underwear. She let the spray of cold water rush over her body before she began scratching at her shoulders in furious desperation._

_Why was she like this?_

_Why was all of this happening to her?_

_Why could she not find the strength to talk about it and ask for help?_

_Small, yet grotesque sobs rung out of her mouth and echoed throughout the bathroom as she picked under the bark and tried to pull it off her skin. She knew it would scar. She knew it would hurt, but in the moment she did not care about anything other than getting it off her skin. She dug her nails in and pulled._

_In small flakes parts of the bark started to float down and landed in the water at her feet – slowing swirling, swirling, swirling down the drain and being washed away._

_She continued to tug and scratched and pull. It felt like picking at an old, deep and dry scab. But she could not stop. She did not want the visual validation that she was different from others around her. She could not handle that truth, so she continued to tug and scratch and pull at the bark over her shoulders until she was left with red rashes and raw skin. She slowly slid down the wall and the let the water fall over her face. She did not know how long she could go on like this._

_It all just hurt too much._

_Calista brought her knees up and rested her head on them. What would her life be like if she was the same as everyone else? If she had friends? She felt as if she would never know the answer to that, but floating in the daydreams of possibilities helped to provide her with at least a small amount of disillusioned comfort, and in that moment, that small little moment, that seemed to be all she could do for herself._

_It was not as if it felt like her world was crumbling away to dust around her – it felt as if the world was moving forward without her, and that it could not even tell she was being left behind._

__________

Calista’s feet tingled as she walked in the front door. She threw her keys in her bag and placed it on the floor. She kicked of her shoes and began to walk into her bedroom. Once she flicked on the light she was greeted with Annora’s smiling face.

“Welcome home,” Annora said. “How was work?” she asked.

“It was okay. I’m really tired though. Mr Wodworth made me unpack a whole bunch of new plants that weren’t supposed to be coming in for another two weeks.”

“That sounds rough. I hope you get a good rest tonight then.”

Calista smiled. Even though she had known Annora for quite some time, she still found herself being warmly moved and touched by the things she said to her. It was pleasant to have someone concerned about your wellbeing and sound genuine when they asked how you were.

“I should be fine,” Calista replied. “This tiredness won’t mean anything in a few days.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rest now. Don’t sacrifice your healthy now because you think it will be over in the future.”

Calista nodded her head and took off her scarf as well as undid a couple of her top buttons on her blouse, exposing the stretch of deep, dark bark across her chest. “How was your day?” she asked Annora. “Did you enjoy the DVD?”

Annora’s face lit up with a huge and almost intoxicating grin. “I did! I was really fucking enjoyable,” she beamed. “You should have seen some of the scenes. They were so intense!”

“I’m glad to hear it; I’ll have to watch it with you sometime.”

Calista walked over to the mirror that Annora was in, brushed away some of the dust that accumulated around it and softly smiled. As she looked into Annora’s eyes she questioned if any of it was real, if it was truly real. A part of her did not believe it was. A part of her was convinced that Annora was just a manifestation of her own loneliness and desire for companionship. However, there was a tiny part of Calista that believed Annora was real. That tiny part of her wanted so strongly to believe that she had finally, after all these years, made a friend. Even if that friend happened to be fake or imaginary, Calista was almost past the point of caring. She just wanted a friend.

And she thought she may have found one in Annora.

As odd as it may sound, Calista was grateful for the fact that she could not see Annora as fully real. Calista had thought that if there was no doubt that Annora was real, she would probably not feel as comfortable around her as she did. While she may not have been completely open and emotional in front of Annora, she did hold a certain level of calmness that she very rarely felt around people. It was refreshing and reassuring reaction to Annora that Calista did not want to have to give up by the demands of reality.

Calista packed away the laptop that was set up near Annora’s mirror and flopped down onto her bed. The soft humming of the fan was the only thing she could hear. She knew she still needed to get undressed and have a shower, but she wanted to rest for a few seconds before doing so. She closed her eyes, and the minutes slowly rolled over her. Before she could get back up again, she was asleep. Lost to the world and lost to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! <3  
> I hope to make the next chapter a little longer, so I hopefully I can! :) 
> 
> I hope you all have a great day!! <3


	3. Where Is The World Taking Us? To A World Of Written Love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Thank you all so much for reading the next chapter! It means the world to me :) <3 I apologise for it being a little while since the last update. Hopefully I can fix that for the next chapter! :)  
> Please read the TRIGGER WARNING list below.
> 
> If I have left anything out of the TW list please let me know and I will add it as soon as I can :)  
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> \- Loneliness  
> \- Actions that could be perceived as self harm  
> \- Deep sadness  
> \- Mentions of abuse
> 
> I hope you all have a great day!! :) <3

_At the time she did not know it was love._

_The salty smell of the sea cacked against Annora’s skin as the summer sun washed over her. With scraped knees and an oversized cap on her head she ran down the street, smacking her green handball around. She had not been living in her new neighbourhood for an extremely long time, and she still did not know many – if any – of the people who lived in her street. She did not even know if there were any children her age that lived there. It did not bother her too greatly at the time, as she was content to play by herself._

_She was used to playing by herself._

_At that time of her life, Annora was probably the freest she had ever felt. She did feel different and she did feel slightly disconnected from the world painted around her, however, she was encapsulated enough in the barriers of protection that came along with a young heart and an unscathed mind. She had yet to fall victim to the black and white propaganda mentality of adulthood. She lived beautifully in the abundance of greys and colours that the eyes of the future could not fully see while looking back. When Annora was young she would track dirt through the house, stick leaves in her hair and babble to the world about all the places she had seen and how far she had travelled. As she grew older, life started to dig its grimy claws into her throat, slicing her vocal cords and preventing her from having the pride or courage to talk to people about anything, let alone where she had gone and who she saw herself becoming._

_When she was younger Annora may not have had the answers or the words to everything in her heart, she may have had a few missing pieces to her identity, but she was proud of who she knew she was. As she grew older and began to categorise her emotions and label her heart, she began to feel a distance she never knew she had with the world._

_In that moment though, that moment with the sun warming her skin, her handball in her grip, and the summer breeze kissing her face, Annora was free and boundless. She was unapologetically herself – she would spend the rest of her life trying to recapture the self-assurance and confidence she felt in those years of her youth. The closest she would ever get would be the sprinkling of dust left in her memories._

_In those moments she was not trapped in society’s images and ideals. She was not a prisoner to expectations and limitations._

_Annora liked it when she was able to get out of the house and explore the streets of her neighbourhood, she could not explain it, but the atmosphere of her house always felt heavy, like a wet cloth filled with secrets and mistrust. She was not sure why that was the case. At least, not at the time. She never saw her parents argue and she never noticed any looks of hatred on their faces. But there was something that just made her feel uneasy about them, especially when all three of them were in a room together. She had noticed that since her mother fell pregnant it had only increased, that uneasy feeling. There was always this underlining look in her parents’ eyes, as if they were communicating to each other through a secret language. Annora’s parents may not have shown blatant hatred to one another, but they certainly never showed any love and deep affection either. She thought her mother looked defeated, though she was not sure why. Even though at the time Annora was only eleven years old, if she spent too much time around her mother, Annora started to feel as though she was much more mature then an eleven year old was, or should be. There was this extremely childish atmosphere and presence her mother had, that would begin to crawl under Annora’s skin if she was around it for too long. She could not explicitly explain why she felt that way, though. Because while she was sure her mother exhibited childish traits, Annora also recognised the age difference she had with her mother and there were many ‘mature’ and ‘adult’ attributes that her mother exhibited. If Annora ever tried to think about it too much, it ended up just confusing her. So she found it easier to just go outside and leave the house behind. Leave her parents and their bizarre and silent world behind. That too was rather easy for her to do, as she moved around a lot and never lived in the same house for an extremely long period of time, so it was easy for her to go on tiny adventures and expeditions and constantly find new things where she lived, before she had to move again._

_As the summer breeze pushed past her, Annora ran down the road paved in bricks towards the large duck pond in the distance that was situated between the estate and the small hill that lead to the beach. A wooden white bridge stretched across the pond, with long and damaged reeds growing along the side of it and around the edges of the pond. A scattering of a few trees grew along the edge of it also; slighting dipping the tips of their branches into the water._

_The pond had a striking and potent smell to it – the kind of smell that on a muggy day would push into your nose and clog up your eyes, leaving a subtle but bitter aftertaste on the back of your tongue, the heat of it wafting down your throat. However, in the rough and adventures years of her youth, Annora did not mind that smell an awful lot. If anything it helped to drown her in a sense of realism in the make-believe worlds she would create for herself to be part of. The smell, accompanied with the distant scent of the crisp and salty waves of sea, helped her to envision she may be a mighty pirate on a ship or a strong knight, riding through the wind to save all those that were in danger._

_She especially loved it when she would climb the trees that dipped into the pond, testing how far she could go, tasting forever through the tips of her fingers as they gripped onto the solid bark of the tree, sometimes slightly dipping into water of the pond. She could not explain it, but she felt so free in those moments. She almost did not feel fully like herself, but like she was living through the eyes and the body of another. Like she was tasting the world in a way that she never would have been able to if she simply stayed as herself._

_It was such a deeply invigorating feeling. She was sure she must have become addicted to it._

_Annora reached the end of the cul-de-sac that would lead to the duck pond when she first saw her. At first it was just through her peripheral vision that she noticed her, but once Annora’s eyes got a glimpse of her, she was pulled in with a desperate need to see that girl in full sight. She could not explain that need that came over her. She could not explain many, if any, of the emotions she found herself feeling at that age.  All she knew was that she was controlled by it._

_Conducted by it._

_A prisoner to it._

_The girl looked older then Annora, but she did not look like what Annora typically associated with older kids. Her hair was a large puff of crisp auburn, like a flaming sunset. Her face was dotted with a scattering and assortment of red pimples, but for some reason Annora thought they were beautiful, stunning almost, like the night sky. She did not know why she was so drawn to them. She saw so many advertisements on television about people trying to remove them, hide them and feeling ashamed of them, but when she saw them on that girl’s face the only word she could think of was beautiful. The girl had thick eyebrows that deeply contrasted against her pale face and her bright hair. Her eyes were a blinding green that pierced into Annora. She wore a tight purple shirt with some sort of character design on it and grey three quarter pants. She was riding a small black scooter._

_Annora thought she felt her heart slow down and quicken all at the same time when the girl began to ride over to her, a huge and welcoming smile on her face._

_“Hello!” the girl called out._

_“Hel-Hello,” Annora mumbled – she had been shocked by her own embarrassment, knowing how confident and blasé she normally acted._

_“I’ve seen you playing around here a bit before. You must be from that family that moved in not that long ago. My name’s Annalise, what’s yours?”_

_“Annora.”_

_“Wow!” Annalise beamed. “What a beautiful name. And unique! I wish I had a unique name. Mine’s so boring. Did you know there are_ four _other girls in my grade called Annalise?”_

_Annora walked a little closer to Annalise, hesitantly. “I still think Annalise is a really nice name.”_

_“Aww! That’s so sweet of you to say!” she replied. “Where were you heading? The pond?”_

_Looking back on that moment, Annora realised she probably should not have been so open and talkative to someone who was that much older than her and that she did not know; however, she truly could not help herself. There was something about Annalise that drew Annora in swiftly and quickly. When someone is young their world is held up by giants, so being given any sort of attention and affirmation from someone who was older felt like an almost priceless form of validation, and Annora soaked up every last drop it. She wanted as much validation as she could possibly get, and Annalise seemed to be pouring it out willingly._

_“I don’t know, I think so,” Annora replied, bashfully._

_Annalise’s smile did not waver. “Do you have anyone to play with?”_

_Annora slightly hesitated before shaking her head. “No.”_

_“Could I play with you?”_

_Annora felt her stomach grow indescribably warm. No one had ever asked her if they could play with her, she was always the one to ask others. She felt nerves of happiness trickle down her back and over her fingers like golden apricot honey.  She twisted her fingers around her shirt and scuffed her shoes against the ground. She wanted to try and appear older then she was:_

_Confident_

_Proud_

_Strong_

_Fun_

_However, she could not bring herself to reply. She was scared about coming across as brash or silly. She bit her tongue and tried to muster up the courage she needed to accept the first friend request she had ever gotten in her life up until that point._

_“Annora?” Annalise said, kindness still ringing from her voice._

_“Ye-Yes,” she replied._

_“Yes?”_

_“I mean … yes, you can play with me. I don’t know what games you like to play, though.”_

_“Hmmm,” Annalise hummed. “Do you like handball? I love handball.”_

_“I’ve never played before,” she admitted._

_“But you have a handball right there!” Annalise pointed at the green ball in Annora’s hands._

_Annora felt her face grow warm. She was so embarrassed. She was going to sound like a loser, she was sure of it. “… I’ve never had anyone to play with, so I’ve never played. I don’t know the rules,” she whispered._

_“Never? It’s so fun! I’ll show you.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Of course!”_

_Annora smiled._

_At the time, and for many years in the future, Annora would not know it was love._

__________

The rhythmic sound of rain could be heard splashing onto the glass window, mixed with the dulled sound of the washing machine from next door. The room held a suspiciously cool and warm feel to it. A scattering of dried, brown fallen leaves were scattered around the floor near the bed. With her knees brought up and her back hunched forward, Calista sat at her small wooden desk, reading a book. Her feet were covered in thick woolly socks, and her hair fell freely over her back, and slightly over her face. Her warm brown skin glowed against the lamp next to her. The smell of her tea floated in front of her, its taste glossed over her lips.   

No matter what came through her life, the most joy she ever found was sitting at her desk and reading. Reading had always helped her to shut off her mind and step out of who she presented herself to be. It gave her soul some time to rest. Even if she could still hear the nagging pleas and shouts of her heart, the sound always died down to nothing more than mere background noise while she read. She got more emotional rest reading then she did sleeping. Her life had been tied to books in a way that made her feel as though she never truly had a say in the matter: infinitely, deeply and addictively.

Her fingers slowly ran up and down the yellowing pages.

If she had the choice between choosing to read a ratty used book and a crisp new one, that no other eyes had ever laid upon, she would choose the used one in a heartbeat. She loved feeling the thinness of the paper, running her fingers over the creases and folds dented into the pages and wondering why someone would have stopped reading there, or why they would want to remember and find that page again. She enjoyed gazing down at the pen and pencil notes tattooed into the pages by those who came before her. Whole worlds had viewed those words before her and they all, in one way or another, had been impacted by them. She loved that. It made her feel a part of something – it tricked her soul in temporarily feeling a part of something greater. It let her live in the fantastic fallacy of community and connectedness, something she had never truly felt in her real life.

She sat up slightly and stretched for a little bit before shoving her head back into the pages of another world.

“Is it a good book?” Annora asked.

Calista slowly lifted her head and turned it over to the mirror that hung across the room. She nodded her head. “It’s really sweet. It’s a sort-of romance between this Princess and the son of the head chef in the castle. I have a bad feeling, though. I think it’s going to end rather sadly.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well,” Calista started, turning her body further around to the mirror. “There is another love interest for the boy. Her name is Elizabeth, and she is the illegitimate daughter of the King and his mistress. She was born before the Princess as well. Many people really like her, and many people want her to become the Queen once the King passes away, instead of the actual Princess. Phillip, the chef’s son, grew up with both Elizabeth and the Princess, Victoria. Victoria knows that Phillip is in love with Elizabeth, however, she only wants the best for them. She’s always felt guilty that she is the ‘pure’ royal one out of her and Elizabeth. She hated herself for it when she was younger and has always gone above and beyond to help her half-sister, and she has always admired Phillip. She just didn’t realise it was love until she got older. So she’s ignoring her own desires and doing everything she can to help the two of them get together. Elizabeth doesn’t treat her very well, though. She presents this sweet personality to everyone, but she’s always treated Victoria poorly. She blames her for everything and has always been jealous of her. But Victoria just takes it, because she thinks she deserves it,” Calista explained. “The love Victoria holds for Phillip is just so beautiful. Despite everything, she ultimately just wants to help him be happy. She doesn’t even hold much animosity over him loving Elizabeth, she’s just happy if he’s happy. They often go for walks together in the fields, and you can just see how deep her love for him runs. It breaks my heart.”

Annora could not hold back the smile that spread across her face. She always felt as if Calista trusted her more and wanted to be closer to her when she spoke of herself or something that she was interested in. It made Annora feel less guilty for when she spoke of her own feelings and cries of her own heart. It felt odd, they would talk, but Annora had a feeling that Calista was never really talking to her. She was not truly speaking the words of her heart or mind to Annora. But she wondered if Calista even knew she was doing it. Maybe she did, but she had no way of stopping herself. Maybe she believed that was how everyone spoke. To most people it would sound like Calista was opening up and speaking truthfully, and she was, ever-so-slightly, but Annora knew it wasn’t fully her that was talking. She just knew. She wondered if Calista even fully knew herself well enough to ever speak in more depth about her heart, maybe she did but she was too humiliated and upset to discuss what she had found, so she pushed it away.

Annora understood what that felt like.

In that moment, however, it felt as though the tiredness that comes along with the end of a day helped Calista to be more relaxed and speak more freely of the thoughts that ran through her mind. Even if it was just about a book.

It made Annora ecstatic.

“So, you think Phillip will end up with Elizabeth and not Victoria? But isn’t Victoria the protagonist? It’d make sense for her to struggle before she achieves what she wants. I’m sure she’ll get the happy ending she deserves,” Annora smiled.   

Calista shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think she wants Phillip to fall in love with her. I think she’s just glad she’s allowed to love him at all. And she loves Elizabeth too much. She wouldn’t feel okay if she and Phillip ended up together.”

Annora was confused. That did not sound like any romance story she had heard of before, not that she was particularly well versed in them to begin with. She had always thought love stories were supposed to be light and happy. Escapism. She thought it was supposed to help remind those who needed it that they could be romantically loved by another human. She did not realise they could be so tragic. So reflective of real life.

In a way, it did make sense to her the more she thought about it. Annora had come to realise that Calista was not the type of person who enjoyed reading many happy stories. She did not, however, always make a comment on how sad they were.

_What are you reading? Annora would ask._

_Just a story about a young boy growing up on the streets, Calista would a reply._

_That seems pretty fucking depression, Annora would reply._

_Calista would shrug. This is how many people live, it’s good to be informed so you can find out ways to help them, she would say._

_What are you reading? Annora would ask._

_Just a story about a women dealing with depression and how it affects her life, Calista would say._

_That’s terrible, Annora would reply, What a sad story._

_It is just the reality for many people, it is how life is, Calista would say._

_What are you reading? Annora would ask._

_Just a collection of poetry dealing with the feelings of loneliness and abandonment, Calista would reply._

_That sounds so heartbreaking, Annora would reply with a frown._

_I suppose everyone is heartbreaking then, Calista would say._

Annora had never figured out why, but Calista seemed to enjoy sad stories that pulled together words from the underbelly of society and painted out the world with the colours made from the hearts filled with pain and coloured by the tears of the downtrodden. Maybe she was scared to let herself get too close to emotions of happiness, it might make her crave them too much, it make her too desperate to try and emulate the lives of love and smiles that she read about. Maybe Calista would not be able to trust herself in a situation like that. Maybe that was why she surrounded her mind with the muses of melancholy. Maybe seeing what she did not have would only make her miss it more.

Annora could not say for sure.

Calista never appeared extremely upset. She would smile when it was appropriate – sometimes even if she was not prompted to – she would listen to other people. She would say what she needed to in order to make a conversation flow, and she would appear completely invested in what was happening, and Annora believed she was invested. Annora believed that Calista did care. She believed Calista was happy, but at the same time, she could not remove the uneasy feeling she felt bubbling in her mind. She could not explain why, but there was something small and hidden in Calista’s eyes that indicated something so utterly shattered and inscrutable that it made her uneasy of she peered at it for too long. It sent a hook into Annora’s heart and frosted her toes over with thick ice.

Maybe that was why Calista enjoyed reading depressing books.

Annora still did not know why this particular novel was having such an effect on her though, if she was so used to seeking out and reading novels that moved around on the axis of despondency.  

“Why does that upset you?” Annora queried.

Calista looked almost shocked by the question, as if she did not even know why she was feeling the way she was. “I think,” she mumbled. “because I don’t know if I could do that.”

“Do what? Let the person you love be with someone else?”

Calista hesitated before softly nodding her head.

“That’s not a bad thing!” Annora said. “Most people wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“Isn’t that sort of selfish though? If you truly, truly love someone, shouldn’t you just want the best for them, even if it brings you sadness?”

“Why can’t you do both?”

“What?”

“Do both,” Annora repeated. “I think you can do both. I think you can simultaneously want someone you love to be happy, regardless of whether or not you make them happy, and want to be the person who makes them happy. Don’t get me wrong, it would be a pretty shitty situation, but I don’t see why you can’t do both.”

“I always thought love was supposed to burn your throat. But I thought about it and that seems pretty selfish. Then I thought it would be reasonable to be happy over the fact you are the person making the one you love happy, and it isn’t someone else doing it. But I figure that’s pretty selfish too. It’s almost like love within itself is selfish,” Calista whispered.

“I don’t think love is supposed to hurt at all. Not like that. Real love is pure and warm. Sure, it might have a few bumps and missing pieces, it might slightly irritate the skin, but it’s never supposed to hurt. Love doesn’t burn the soul. If it does, I don’t think it’s real love. It might hold all the components of love, but it’s not love.”

Calista knotted her eyebrows together. “Does that mean unrequited love isn’t real love?”

Annora shook her head. “No.”

“I’m confused … unrequited love hurts many people. You just said love doesn’t hurt.”

“Love can hurt,” Annora said, slowly, “but true love, love in its fullest form, if it _is_ love, doesn’t hurt. It’s not painful. While unrequited love is still love, it’s not reciprocated. So it can be beautiful and warm, I don’t think its love in its fullest form, even if it can still feel like it is.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way,” Calista confessed.

“I mean, it’s not like that’s a law of the universe or anything. That might not be what it is at all, that’s just what I think,” Annora quickly added.

“What about when the world around you makes you think there is something wrong with your love? That would be a very painful love, is that not real love?”

It felt as if an avalanche of rocks crumbled in Annora’s stomach from the question, though she tried her best not to show it. “I … I,” she mumbled. She tried to organise her thoughts. She tried to not let the past cloud her words of the now. “I would say, that’s the small bumps or missing pieces that all good things are bound to have. That … That has nothing to do with the love, that’s just got to do with how people fail to read the langue of love, because they’ve closed their eyes to it.”

“I suppose love is just a complicated thing,” Calista said.

“That it is,” Annora agreed.

“I guess love isn’t found in the places we wish to find it.”

Annora could not help but chuckle at that – though she was unsure why. “Yeah, and it’s pretty shitty.”

__________

_The house was asleep._

_Calista sat the dining table in the dark. Her mind kept mulling mulling mulling mulling mulling over the words thrown at her early that day. She could not understand why it happened. She could not understand what she did to make her mother so upset._

_Why was that all she seemed to be able to do?_

_Behind her the curtains of the window slowly patted back and forth, being pushed by the small wind from outside._

_She thought maybe the problem was that people liked to see themselves in things that did not involve them at all. They liked to join together things that had nothing in common. Maybe that was what her mother had done. Maybe that was why she got so upset. Maybe that was why she took Calista’s advice as a shot to her heart. Maybe._

_Maybe._

_Calista pushed her cup full of tea forward and rested her head on the table. Her hair fell over her face and veiled her view._

_She dragged her fingers over her legs, where she felt some flower petals and growing bark. As she thought about what her mother had said, about how loud her voice had risen, about how she had practically sneered and screeched at Calista, that it looked like she was slightly vibrating almost, Calista’s fingers ran up and down, up and down, up and down her leg quicker. With more pressure and force._

_She hooked her nail under a small piece of the bark that was lifted up off the skin. She pulled. At first it was small. Hesitant. As she got more traction she bit her bottom lip and tugged harder. Faster._

_She did not know what else to do._

_Were the flowers and the bark and the vines the reason her mother had done what she did? Calista thought no one knew about them. She thought she had succeeded in keeping them a terrible and hideous secret. Maybe she was wrong_

_Wrong_

_Wrong_

_Wrong_

_Wrong_

_She was always wrong._

_She was always in the wrong._

_Maybe her mother did know. Maybe her mother had found out and that was why she had been so cross with Calista. Perhaps she had felt disappointed. Perhaps she had the expectation that Calista would have tried harder to remove them. Had she let her mother down? Was she a disappointment? That might have been it._

_She pulled and tugged and pulled and tugged at her leg. She could not stop the tears that started budding in her eyes like spring roses. She started panting. She turned her face closer to the table to mask any noises that might attempt to escape her body._

_Had Calista misunderstood something somewhere along the way? Was there a rule that she had broken unconsciously? Her mother had always confided in her, Calista had always been there to listen and take in the woes and worries of her mother. What had changed? What unspoken rule had she broken that made her mother snap?_

_Responding._

_It was responding. She had responded._

_She had used her voice in the situation. Perhaps that was what made her mother so horrendously choleric._

_Listen and agree. Listen and agree. Listen and agree: that is what she had been designed for. Saying anything would mean stepping over a line. Feeling anything other than happiness or sadness for her mother’s situation would mean Calista was not staying in her lane. Listening and agreeing, that was all she felt her useless body was designed for. That must have been it. She was disposable. But she was also worn in. Her mother had become complacent with Calista’s ears, so she continued to chew away at them, but she wanted nothing to do with the mind or the mouth that came along with them._

_With a shaky hand, Calista continued to pull at the bark on her leg and tug at the vines that grew between it._

_It was all she felt she could do._

_Her face felt sticky from the tears, but she did not seem to mind. She just continued to keep her eyes closed and tried to focus on the sound of the lonely wind outside._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if the plot seems to be moving at a funny rate and things are still sort of confusing, I promise explanations will be coming, I'm just revealing things in a slow sort of way. I shall all make sense though ( I hope xD ) :) <3
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, it really does mean a lot!! I hope you all have a beautiful day! <3 :D 
> 
>  
> 
> Don't be scared to let me know what you might be liking or disliking about this story! :) <3


	4. As We Bend Around The Corner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for reading this chapter!! :) So sorry it has taken me so long to get it out. I am working very hard on getting back into a good writing schedule, so hopefully I will be able to update more regularly :) It means so much to me that you are reading, so thank you so much! :) <3  
> Please read the TRIGGER WARNING list below.  
> If I have left anything out of the TW list please let me know and I will add it as soon as I can :)  
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> \- Loneliness  
> \- Actions that could be perceived as self harm  
> \- Deep sadness  
> \- Mentions of abuse  
> \- Comparing to other people   
> \- Allusions to small agrophobia   
> I hope you all have a great day!! :) <3

_What were the rules?_

_She thought about them a lot, however, Calista could not say they were particularly simple or easy to understand._

_When was it okay? When was it not?_

_When was she allowed to use her voice? When should she shut it down?_

_Where was she allowed to fall behind? Where was it okay to diverge from the path everyone else seemed to be following, convincing themselves they were special or revolutionary for doing so?_

_She felt that question was the most confusing. There was an odd pressure to be ‘different’ and ‘revolutionary’, but it always seemed to be in a way that simply mirrored the contemporary ideologies of the time. Many of the people her age, she had noticed, liked to pretend as if their actions were moving mountains or they were making a change. Some of them were. Some of them were actively fighting for things that needed to be fought for, but most of them were not. Yet they were also the ones that arrogantly looked down on all those who they believed were to be socially below them._

_It made her feel as though she had made the wrong decisions for herself. Had she gone down the wrong road? Had she broken yet another unspoken rule?_

_She did not make herself a part of the Revolutionary Youth. She was not making a stance. She would never one up her professor. No. She followed the vines and started working at a small nursery that sold bizarre flowers and supposedly had peculiar customers that she had never seen. She worked odd hours and her week was not structured. She would not meet the friends of her life on campus. She would never touch that life. She spent her afternoons reading books because real people terrified her. Real people had many layers that she could never hope to decipher quickly enough._

_She had never figured out what made someone else ‘below’ other people, however, she had picked up on the reasons these arrogant and lost people screamed through their actions and whispered with their voices:_

_Academics_

_Looks_

_Achievements_

_Achievements_

_Achievements_

_Achievements_

_Youth_

_Clothing_

_She found everyone seemed to have a reason to judge. Even those that painted their faces with the colours of kindness._

_Who was she allowed to be?_

_Who was she?_

_She had found that over the years it became exceedingly harder to ask herself questions about where she found herself and her world, because as each year passed it started to feel less and less like her world. But rather just some streams she had stumbled upon._

_It felt as if when her city was asleep her thoughts would run wild through the streets. Under lampposts and through wet grass she believed her thoughts and dreams were playing hide and seek. They would run to the future and leave her in the past. They would scatter off to places they knew she would not be able to follow them to. In the day and under the sun she would be able to see everyone walking alongside their wishes and fantasies. They were all traveling far and going where they wanted to go. But Calista felt as though she had been locked behind a window. Watching the world go by, for she could not follow her hopes and dreams. She thought, I know if I tried I’d surely die._

_She could not understand why the world felt so far away._ Why do I feel as though I’m splintering apart? _She could not seem to speak what was on her mind – she just felt pain and despair. It was as though her heart was eating her whole. She felt like she could not breathe._

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

_She could not breathe._

_She wanted it all to be over. She no longer wanted to be fabricated by other people’s fantasies. They all had their rules that were beat into her head like a ritual. Like a law. Like a curse: Don’t do this. Don’t look like that. You can’t you can’t you can’t you can’t you can’t. That isn’t you, she could feel them sneering. Suggesting. Stating. Explaining._

_How would they know? She sometimes caught herself wondering, but she also knew that they probably knew more than her. She had no idea who she was. Not an inkling of it. She could often find things she enjoyed, or act in a way they that was common enough it may present the idea of understood selfhood, but she was truly just playing out the role she thought she should. She was just speaking the lines she had accumulated over the years that she believed was well suited to her and other people would respond to._

_She did not know who she was. She did not even feel alive. It felt as though her mind had been torn in two and her soul was stuck, floating, in the limbo between._

_Was she kind? Or was that just who she forced herself to be?_

_Was she beautiful? Or was that just something she twisted and pulled her body to be?_

_Was she actually abandoned? Or was that just something she tried to convince herself of to feel a part of something and have justification for why she felt so different and lonely?_

_She honestly had no idea who she was. She could be a boy, she could be a girl. She could be mean and cruel or she could be sweet and kind. She could be intelligent or she could be dumb. She could be stunningly beautiful or she could be disturbingly ugly. She could love everything or she could love nothing. And she genuinely would not know. Nothing ever felt real. She felt as though her body had been split into two and she had no idea which one was her – if either of them were. It was as if she was floating alone in a body and a life that never even belonged to her. As if she had stolen someone else’s life but lost the script needed to pull it off right._

____________

Annora had never felt like she had a place where she belonged. She had always felt as though she was moulding herself to fit into the tight squares of other people. She knew who she was, but she also knew that who she was wasn’t someone the world would accept lightly. The world would always find something wrong about her; something she would have to fill in and explain away. So she never felt as though she had a place to belong.

That was until she found herself in Calista’s mirror.

Calista was shy and reserved, she hid most of who she was from the world, Annora could see as much. Though Annora never got the feeling she did it out of shame or fear, she could have been wrong, but Calista never appeared to be locking a part of herself away because she didn’t want people to see her, but rather just because she felt more content saving her energy. At least that was how Annora saw it. She had admired Calista for that and envied her just the same.

The reason Annora felt most at home there though, was because after spending time with Calista, she had begun to realise Calista had no box for Annora to slip into. She had no mould or expectations. Calista let Annora just be.

Calista let Annora breathe.

She had never in her life felt more free.

Annora would close her eyes and the hours would blow past her like loose grass on a windy day, and when she opened them again there Calista would be. Her long hair, her soft skirts and turtlenecks and her head of flowers and body of vines.

Calista did not always talk as she was happy to just listen to Annora. But that never bothered Annora, she had never had anyone who was content to just listen to her before. It made her feel so warm. As if she were a dying person getting their first drink of cool water.

Whenever Calista would speak, or Annora would ask her to, it felt as though the world was a cup of slowly warming tea that sent tingles through all of Annora’s body.

In that moment the room was dimly lit and Annora could see Calista’s body bundled up in blankets on her bed. Some leaves and flowers had fallen onto the ground beside her. Her shoulders slowly rose up and down, up and down, up and down. The peaceful sight hooked onto Annora’s eyelids and dragged them down, until she too had been captured by the unpredictable hands of sleep.

____________

_Her brothers’ honey dipped bronze bodies gleamed with sweat as they moved forward on the street._

_The neighbourhood was quiet. Most people had already come home from work and were most likely having dinner with their families. The sky was a blended pink and orange and the clouds were smeared across the sky like paint. Calista tucked her hands into the pockets of her oversized jumper and hunched her back forward. Her hair fell forward and hid her face and neck from the world. Going outside had become a more challenging task by then. She hardly left the house; she was terrified of what people would think if they saw her. She was terrified someone may catch a glimpse of her flowers or bark or vines. However, what terrified her most was that as soon as someone saw her they would be acknowledging her existence in the world. She could not explain why, but that was something she struggled with letting happen. Perhaps it was because it became harder to trick her mind into letting herself believe that she was floating away from Earth. Everytime someone looked at her she had another chain wrapped around her arms that would tug her down to the ground._

_So she was very glad that the streets were empty – except for herself, her brothers and their dog._

_She pulled her head up when she heard the loud and cracking noise of her brothers laughing. They were running up the street with their dog chasing behind them. They were playing shoving each other and moving so fast. She smiled at them. She was glad they could be happy._

_It surprised her a lot of the time when she realised how quickly they were growing. How tall they were getting. How deeper their voices were becoming. How much they were beginning to find themselves in other parts of the world. She could still remember when they were little kids and how they would play pretend and hold hands while crossing the road. Now her brothers were shaping themselves and growing and changing; and she had been blessed with a front row seat to it all. She knew they were going to go off and do so many wonderful things. She knew her brothers were going to accomplish so much._

_They moved ahead of her, out of her sight, and around the corner. She continued to slowly meander after them, but she knew she would never catch up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3 Sorry that this chapter is on the shorter side.   
> I hope you all have a beautiful day!! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading the first chapter!! <3
> 
> Some of you may have noticed that some paragraphs in this chapter were in a FF I had uploaded on here a little while ago and later deleted. Truth be told those paragraphs were originally apart of this story, but I never intended to release this story, so I placed them in that ff. After some consider, however, I thought I would give my shot at writing this story. I believe this story will be more difficult for to write then Through The Glass Of A Fish Bowl was, just given the themes I plan on exploring, and because it will be magical realism, but I decided I wanted to try and give it my best shot.  
> So, thank you so much for reading this chapter! <3 It truly means a lot to me. Much like TTGOAFB, the chapters will most likely get longer the further into the story I get. 
> 
> See you next chapter!  
> I hope you all have a wonderful day!!! <3


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